


expectations

by Phanseyelash123



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man the Animated Series (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Peter Parker, Gay Harry Osborn, Harry Osborn Needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Norman Osborn Being a Jerk, Norman Osborn's A+ parenting, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Sweet Miles Morales, epic miles, french harry osborn, lil bit of smut, not in relationship, referenced smut ?? its like a few lines dont crucify me pls ty, the spidey reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24877354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phanseyelash123/pseuds/Phanseyelash123
Summary: Peter needed to be honest. Harry hates it.-or-spidey  reveal, angst w/ happy ending, tiny, tiny bit of smut
Relationships: Harry Osborn & Peter Parker, Harry Osborn/Peter Parker
Kudos: 53





	expectations

**Author's Note:**

> this is msm spiderman but feel free to imagine it as whoever u want. also its my headcanon that emily (harrys mum) is french so he learnt french in a way of being close to her (plus, norman encourages it cause its good for business for when he takes over)

He expected this. Who would not, keeping a huge secret from your best friend, the one you had since they were born, the one that had your back since the very beginning. The one that had comforted you when your parents died, when your uncle died, when he accepted every single flaw, every single good thing, who watched films with you and always invited him to stay. Harry had the absolute right to react the way he did. It was stupid that Peter even got upset, really, however the rage still stung. Peter’s body was throbbing with achy pain, since he had been a ragdoll abused by bad guys only that morning, and for a moment in the fight, he had believed he was going to die. Believing that you were to die was a terrible, gut wrenching, and surprisingly eye opening experience. He had felt that pain a good few times in his life, and he had understood this when he decided to become a crime fighting hero. However, when he had been pinned down, a sharp object pressed to his throat, a lot overwhelmed him. First, his ‘spider-sense’ was absolutely deafening, all his hairs stood and his eyes were impossibly wide. Second, he became aware that he needed to tell his best friend… Well, everything. Spider-Man. His feelings. Everything. He never quite understood what people meant by ‘your life flashes before your eyes’ until the masked villain in front of him disappeared and was replaced by Harry, and his gentle smile and his smoothies and coffee. By his blue shirts and unweathering patience, by the way he smirked when he teased Peter and by the way he threw his head back in a laugh. His piercing blue eyes and dark, perfect hair, his frown, his sighs of aggravation, his pout, his watery eyes when his father was particularly patronising or rude.

  
Everything for a second was so clear.

His friend, Gwen, often joked and said he was dumb for how clever he was. He understood that now too. He had been in love with his friend for years and had been so, so, incredibly stupid for not noticing. How he blushed at a compliment, or melted at any physical touch, how he became putty when Harry’s arms were around him, or how he thought about him all the Goddamn time. He had understood a lot in that day, mostly that he had to be honest, with himself and his best friend.

  
He was in his normal clothes, a large red hoodie and some joggers. It was quite convenient, actually, because before the spider-bite he usually wore those to hide his skinny frame, but now those clothes hid his abrupt muscles and the constellations of bruises and cuts that contrasted with his fair skin. Even when Miles had patched him up, his back was troubled and every time he moved, he swore his bones groaned, pleading for him to stop and rest. Peter had always been good at one thing: never giving up. And, he would never, ever, give up on Harry.

  
The elevator ride up was tedious and slow, it had him feeling irritate and itchy, his spider-sense was low, warning, almost as if it knew that if Peter spoke everything would become dangerous. He hated how Harry beamed once he entered, hated how the grin died when he saw the state of him, and hated how he let himself he engulfed into his arms and guided to one of the many leather sofas. He sat down, not even noticing how he was shaking until Harry settled his hand gently on his spine. Faintly, he heard Harry speak, but everything was so muffled, as if everything was underwater. Or perhaps Peter was underwater, after all Harry didn’t sound like he was choking, like Peter felt.

  
When Harry received nothing other than silence, he stood, and Peter was not sure how long he was gone because now he was staring at his hands and counting the wrinkles and creases of each finger. A blanket. Harry had left to get a blanket that he placed on Peter’s shoulder and then pulled him close. Peter could cry.

But he didn’t.

  
That was selfish, because he was the one in the wrong, and yet he still ate up the affection like a neglected animal. Ten minutes, Peter curled into his side for ten minutes, eyes closed, breathing in Harry’s cologne. Even so, he finally sat up after a while when the world became clear- he could hear faint French music, [tous les garcons et les filles by Françoise Hardy](https://open.spotify.com/track/0Yg1hSAUgd2AAneReFOVzS?si=CgjNAaIgQruhrSesSO8WnQ), if he remembered correctly, that, presumably, Harry had been listening to before he interrupted- and finally, he could hear the gentle tone in Harry’s voice.

  
“Pete? You okay?” Peter did not doubt that the older boy must have said that plenty of times already, and this was the first time Peter had heard it.

  
“You’re going to be mad at me.” Peter spoke weakly; his voice was cracked and broken. If the circumstances had been different, Harry would have poked fun at it, but he did not. He knew something was deeply wrong and he knew that a joking manner would seem insensitive. Peter fisted the blanket, knuckles white, as tears already spiked his eyes. Selfish, selfish, selfish. He was making Harry feel bad for him. He could not do that to him. 

  
“Hey, don’t worry, Pete. Everything’s okay. Talk to me.” Harry’s voice was like a safety net and Peter was a trapeze artist. Everything about Harry was built for comfort; his blue eyes surprisingly warm despite the colour and the welcoming fingers on his back. He wanted to shut his mouth and just enjoy the softness for a little while more. Peter knew he could not; doing that would be an endless loop of hesitation and unsureness. He needed to get everything off his chest.

  
“You’re going to hate me.” Peter’s voice was still wobbling, his lip quivering while he pushed away tears that pleaded to fall. “And,” he said before Harry could, “I know you’re going to say you’re not going to. Before… I say, I just wanna let you know I never meant to harm you. You’ve always been the one I wanted to protect… It’s always been you. This morning, I thought I was gonna die.” Peter didn’t dare turn to Harry; a hint of his expression would make the dam break and the tear gates open. “All I could think about was you.”

  
Peter rubbed his throat, remembering the blade against his throat, remembering that even through the fabric of his suit he could feel the coolness. “A-anyway…” He breathed, “I… realised a lot of things. One: that…” Peter could barely breathe, “that _I like you_.” He shuffled. He wanted to look at Harry’s face but he didn’t. “And I have for a while. It’s more shocking to me than it is to you- I promise- I didn’t even know I liked guys until then. I didn’t… know that I’ve liked you for years.” First thing, check. Again, his hands tightened on the blanket and he clamped his eyes shut. 

  
“Two… I need to tell you something.” Was the air thin? It felt entirely too thin. He had been sky high before, winded more times than he could count, but this air was thinner than he thought was possible. The fingers brushing his throat tightened a bit, trying to get it to work again, and feeling overwhelmed with panic and fear. “I haven’t been honest and the way I’ve treated you is honestly gross. So… y’know how I always ditch you?” He murmured, staring at his white knuckles, “i-it’s because… because I’m Spider-Man.”

  
He said it. Peter had done it. He had accomplished why he had come there, and yet he didn’t feel victory, no, not at all. Fear. He felt petrified, because he knew he was going to lose Harry, and it was all because he wanted to play hero. ‘With great power, comes great responsibility.’ That was what his uncle had always assured him. It was evident that his late uncle did not mean become a crime-fighting vigilante. He probably meant become a scientist, help people, find cures to diseases and find ways to help the unfortunate. Peter had been stupid, he knew that now. Peter ruined everything he touched. And Harry apparently was only another thing he shattered.

  
Peter turned to look at Harry, and he was met by a blank stare. The warm eyes had iced over, his brows were no longer knitted, and his mouth was in a small frown. He was thinking. Peter tuned to Harry’s heartbeat (Peter sometimes found himself subconsciously listening in- it was somewhat calming being able to listen to the steady beat.) It was quick and getting quicker. It was strange, because Harry had trained his expression so well that it could be unreadable. He supposed that was part of having Norman Osborn as a parent. He had always insisted that emotions would get you nowhere in the business world, and since Harry’s life was already mapped out for him; he needed to prepare for it. Not only that, but Norman was revoltingly controlling, to the point Harry’s iced expression was used in his very presence, not wanting to upset the man. Peter hated the fact that the expression that was reserved for Norman was now being used against Peter- it was unwelcoming and oddly calculated.

  
“ _Le jour où moi aussi, j'aurai quelqu'un qui m'aime_.” The soft hum of the song taunted the tense silence. Peter would punch the music player in aggravation, but he was transfixed on Harry. 

  
Then, Harry’s lips parted, and his brows knitted again, a spark of life in those pupils. “ _What_?” He asked. Despite the questioning tone, he didn’t give Peter time to answer, “no, no, no, you _have_ to be joking. You are, aren’t you? You c… You…” When Peter’s mouth worked uselessly, Harry stood up suddenly, eyes wide as he stumbled away from him. “You can’t be. _Peter_! You can’t be! Peter, P-Peter, why aren’t you saying anything?” He asked hoarsely, his legs touching the coffee table and making him topple backwards. Within a flash, Peter’s arm was around his waist to catch him from falling on the glass table, unable to resist since his spider-since had screeched to save him. There was a moment of silence, of Peter’s eyes on Harry’s parted lips and Harry collecting himself. Once he came to, he shoved Peter away and he backed up again, this time nothing to stop him from retreating.

  
“Harry-“

  
“ _No_! Get out!” Harry yelled, eyes nothing but pinpricks in terror and mouth gaping open, scared. When Peter didn’t immediately leave, the fear turned to burning, seething rage, a fire that could cause devastation and burn buildings to the ground, smother the world in cole coloured smoke. “ _Get out_!” He screamed both words raw with resentment. Peter opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, leaving silently, arms around his middle as he escaped, crying once he was in the lift, tears free falling, forming rivers, onto his worn shoes and oversized hoodie.  
He expected it. It still hurt like hell.

Harry was not at the café in the morning. Harry did not come to school. The entire day passed at an agonising pace of people calling Peter moody, of people asking him where Harry was. Since Harry had come back to Horizon, everyone had fallen for his kind but stern demeanour. Even though he had technically already graduated Oz Academy, he always liked to work more than necessary. Especially with a father who was known for overachieving, he had a successful business by the age of twenty-five, after all. Peter felt a piece of himself decaying as the seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours, and hours into days. When he had told Miles of his doing, he got a very animated disbelieved reaction, demanding that they would have talked it through. Peter had kept his mouth closed about finding out that he liked Harry. It didn’t mean anything anymore. It was the equivalent of a freshman liking a junior. Impossible, distant and too far to reach. Harry didn’t return his calls or texts, and Peter wouldn’t be surprised if Harry eventually blocked him. He gave up this morning, deciding that Harry could reply when he was ready. He was tinkering distractedly with some machine he was working on, eyes tired and dark, and he almost missed his swing with his hammer until his spider-sense alarmed him and he moved his hand out of the way. Brows furrowing, he stared at his hand, then growled, angry. How dare those powers that lost his friend show… He clenched his fist and punched the table, then his eyes wildly flickered between his fist and the now slightly dented table, and then the small contraption he had been working on for the last few days. Within seconds, his hand had found the handle of the hammer, and he was smashing the metal and the gears, and the wires, it was loud and disruptive, and if anyone was still in the corridor, they definitely heard. He yelled at nothing and threw the hammer to the floor, stumbling back until his back hit the wall, and he sank to the floor, hands holding his face as he breathed sharply through his nose.

  
He did not just have a cliché freak-out…

  
He sat there until his legs were sore and dead beneath his weight, until his eyes grew heavy with exhaustion. He fell asleep against the wall, only stirring when his phone buzzed against his pocket. Sitting forward, he groaned as his whole body was aching with the terrible position he was in, and pulled out his phone. There were a few notifications, but one caught his eye.

  
**Har, 12:08PM** : Answer May.

  
Peter’s eyes widened and suddenly he did not feel a tad bit tired. He jolted up and stood, stretching his cramped legs as he hurriedly typed.

 **Me, 12:08PM** : Are you okay?????

  
Peter watched as the grey speech bubble typed, only to stop, and retype, and stop, and retype… Then, nothing. Peter had studied the phone for minutes, just pleading Harry to reply. Again, he jolted when his phone went off, this time it was Aunt May. He answered.

  
“Peter? Peter, _thank God_. Are you okay? You didn’t come home from school…” Harry must have received a worried call from May, and that was why he messaged. Peter explained that he had just fallen asleep and would be on his way home now. He slid on his Spider-Man suit and swung though the city, though the large Oscorp building caught his eye, knowing Harry was somewhere in there. He swallowed and slowly made his way over. He found Harry’s window immediately, and he sat on the small edge outside of it. He peaked in, and saw the boy sitting away from him, head hanging low- he was clearly looking at something below him, but from this angle Peter couldn’t make it out. Peter suddenly felt very stalker-like, peering into Harry’s window. Nevertheless, he needed this. Needed to make sure he was okay. Glued to Harry’s figure, he moved now, putting his head back, as he swung a bottle and drank. Oh. Peter’s heart sank as he witnessed Harry drink some sort of alcoholic drink and then flop onto his bed lazily. Did he do that? He had only seen Harry drunk a handful of times, and it was either at parties or when he was incredibly stressed. Still, Harry made himself comfortable in his bed and smiled faintly, hand lose around the neck of the bottle. Peter couldn’t move, awestruck with how Harry put his other hand over his chest and exhaled, and then looked down himself with a somewhat satisfied expression. Peter couldn’t get drunk with his drastic metabolism- well, in theory, he could, if he were to drink the strongest alcohol quickly… It wasn’t worth it. Despite his wondering thoughts, he came to attention at a soft sound. Peter’s eyes focused back on Harry and— _oh_.

  
Harry’s hand was down his trousers, and his face red, his neck arched. All moisture from Peter’s mouth evaporated and it was comical how red his face went, eyes shooting wide and his ears turning pink. He couldn’t help but look as Harry clearly worked himself under his trousers, and then Peter left, face hotter than the flames that had been in Harry’s eyes days ago.  
When he was out of sight, Harry opened his eyes, looked out the window, and smirked.

A week. Harry was absent for a week. The whole seven days were agonising, and it had really taken a toll on Peter, so much that even Max, the head teacher, asked to talk to him. The large man had tried to be welcoming and warm, but Peter was quick to irritation and it became more of a confrontation rather than a father figure caring. When Harry did come to school, the first thing he thought of was Harry’s sound and face when he… The memory sent shocks through his body and he cast his gaze away in shame, embarrassment and plain terror. He felt terrible for having been a peeping Tom (though, in his defence, he had only been there to check up on Harry and left as soon as Harry… _y’know_ …) God, Peter couldn’t even think of the word because as soon as he did his face went crimson. Even so, everyone aside from Miles went to greet Harry, pulling him into loving hugs and celebrating his return. Miles was still unsure on Harry’s opinion on him- it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out Miles was the other Spider-Man as soon as he found out about Peter… And Harry was a genius _and_ knew about Spider-Man.

  
Harry passed Miles and Peter with no words being exchanged. He didn’t even look over to the two, just keeping his face guarded as he went to his private lab. The exchange did not go unnoticed by Gwen, whose eyes narrowed at Harry’s door and Peter’s hurt expression. Walking to them, she had a pen in her hand and she tapped her red lips with it, and then sat down on Peter’s desk. Miles opened his mouth to ask why she was there but she was quicker, “what happened between you and Harry?”

  
“Huh?” Peter said, mostly because his brain had not caught up to his mouth. He knew he probably looked terrible, and he had tried to avoid mirrors as best as possible because the last thing he needed was a reminder of how he had messed up his friendship.

  
“Don’t be coy with me, Peter. What happened? If he were just ‘ill’ he would have been all over you right now. He didn’t even look at you.” She stated. Gwen was too perceptive; too smart- he guessed that was what he deserved for being friends with some of New York’s finest.

  
“Just—“ “He told Harry about Spider-Man.” Miles cut him off and Peter winced because he saw how Gwen’s eyes went wide, “you what?” She said, but didn’t expect an answer, “you know he hates Spider-Man- how on earth did you think this would work in your favour?”

Peter felt like sinking into the floor and never returning, “I just felt like I was lying to him... I felt bad.”

  
“And because you ‘felt bad’, number one ‘Spidey-hater’ now knows Spidey’s identity.” Gwen grimaced and rubbed her forehead. She didn’t look good stressed, Peter despised seeing it on her, especially when it was his fault. “And not only that, but he has probably figured out Miles, too. Think it through next time. There isn’t even a next time... Peter, for being so smart you can be incredibly stupid.”  
“I know!” Peter snapped, staring at her wildly. Taken aback, the pen gone from her lips as her brows raised. Peter rarely raised his voice, and this was the first time it was directed at her. “I know! You think I wanted to lose Harry? He- he was the only person I had, that I really had, and now he’s gone. And now he hates me. And now he doesn’t even look at me because he fucking hates me. Stop! Just stop! You don’t understand the pain of every time I have to ditch him with no explanation o-or when he says he hates Spider-Man.” He was gesturing around crazily, his tired state not helping his manic mood, with his messy hair and dark green eyes flickering around unsurely. “Because I am Spider-Man, and he’s gotta deal with that if he wants to be my friend. I am Spider-Man, and I can’t keep lying to my best friend. He needs to accept it or not be my friend.” He breathed raggedly, head falling into his hands as he fought tears, “I need to be Spider-Man. I need to help people.”  
Now he could breathe properly, he sank into the chair, hands still covering his face, and all of a sudden, Miles and Gwen were holding him as he cried.  
“I like Harry. I really do.” He wept weakly into Gwen’s shoulder. She smelt like faint perfume and coconut conditioner. Being so close to her was so comforting, her hand in his hair, as Miles rubbed his shoulder comforting. “I can’t lose him too.”

  
Outside the door, Harry stood, eyes wide at the sudden outburst he hadn’t meant to hear, and he covered his mouth in shock. He had heard most of it, and he forced himself to move when he heard Miles leaving.

Graduation was just around the corner but Peter felt anything but joyous. Harry and Peter had agreed that if they both graduated, they would celebrate together after school, and wear matching suits under their gowns (admittedly, Peter’s was cheap and second hand, while Harry’s was expensive and probably bought just for the occasion, but the colours matched, and that was all that mattered.) Harry still hadn’t spoken to him, even with the news of Spider-Man had been delivered three weeks ago. Everyone had caught notice of how the inseparable pair were now… well, separated. When people asked, Peter’s eyes just went dark and he didn’t speak, and Gwen or Miles shooed him away. May had noticed too. She had asked, however the look of pain that she only saw when people asked about his uncle came- the guarded look and small frown, so she didn’t push. Waiting for him was the way to go. The day of graduation came by, Peter wore the suit, and he didn’t feel a spark of happiness. He felt bland.

  
Graduation went and Peter smiled but he was unsure if he really meant it. He took the diploma and he posed for pictures, shook hands, and made small talk, however as soon as he saw Harry his small smile turned into a genuine one, but it softened, sad. Though he noticed harry was wearing his half of the dark blue suit. Harry’s eyes found his. The first time in weeks. Peter froze, mouth slightly parted, and whatever conversation Harry had been in stopped in its tracks as Harry had clearly lost interest. Peter swore he could have drank a whole punch bowl and he would still feel dehydrated. His tongue was like a desert. Then, Harry broke the spell, unsurely turning his gaze to his neat, leather shoes; face a little red. Had Peter imaged the blush? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.

  
The unsure eyes were then Peter’s, and he hesitantly approached, hands stiff by his sides. Staring at the floor, he knew he reached his destination because he heard Harry’s heart. How it quickened.  
“Hey.” Peter said. “Hey.” He got a response. Harry spoke. “Oh.” Peter said, now feeling stupid because he was bashful and clumsy. Harry looked professional as ever, though, he looked around the room at the dancing teenagers, and a soft song came on. Cliché. “Wanna dance?” Harry offered an arm out, and through a thick smile, he nodded. Taking his arm, Harry led them to the dance floor and began to lead them. He probably had classes- dancing was probably a thing for rich, high-class people who attended galas. Peter followed along, head on Harry’s shoulder, closing his eyes. Expensive cologne. He had missed the smell. Harry was silent for a while but Peter didn’t mid. This silence was one he could lavish in. It wasn’t spiteful. It was quiet and calm. The lights danced around lazily, and Peter’s shoulders slowly relaxed.

“I’ve been thinking.” Harry stated while they rocked back and forth. Peter knew his lax shoulders raised again, as if trying to hide his face, much like a turtle. Still, Harry kept dancing, and he wished he could see his face because his voice didn’t give away anything. Harry’s arms around him made him want to melt like he usually did when he cuddled. But it was inappropriate.

“One: you’re an asshole for not telling me.” Harry’s voice was low in his ear. It reminded him of when he saw Harry drowsily jerking himself off. Red again, from that image, he hid his face deeper into Harry, and Harry must have taken it for shame because he continued with a more hushed voice. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me in the first place. If you would have let me know sooner I wouldn’t have hated Spider-Man.” Harry’s lips brushed Peter’s ear and Peter’s face went even more ablaze. He needed to stop, so he pulled his face away, and he was only an inch shorter than Harry was. Up close, he could see all the different shades in his blue eyes, and the way he had just a hint of freckles brushing his nose, and his lips gnawed, as if he had bitten them a lot. Even with them not being soft, they looked just as kissable as any other day. Peter tore his gaze to those cool irises and swallowed the lump in his throat.

“But that’s beside the point. I’ve been gullible and believed the bullshit that Norman told me, and the public. You’re not a menace.” Peter’s eyes went wide. Not a hint of resentment was in Harry’s words and he wanted to slap himself awake. This had to be a dream. “At the end of the day, you’re still Peter. My Peter. It doesn’t matter if you wear spandex, or go fight super villains… You’re still you.” One of Harry’s hands came up to Peter’s hot cheek and he stared at him in absolute awe. “And…” Harry went bashful and looked down for a moment, their dance slowing. “I… um… Like you too.”

No. Fucking. Way.

This _had_ to be a dream. No…

His lips were against Harry’s and he didn’t remember leaning into it, so maybe it was all Harry. He wouldn’t be surprised, Peter hadn’t kissed anyone before, having been either too busy or interested in science more than girls (and boys). He didn’t know about Harry. He knew he hadn’t had a relationship before though. So maybe this was his first kiss too. No matter for logistics, first kiss or not, Harry seemed to know what he was doing, at least compared to Peter, whose eyes were wide and hands stiff on Harry’s waist. He softened up eventually as Harry guided Peter’s hands to his back, and he then pulled back. The music was faded, fuck, Peter didn’t even know if it was still a low dancing song, he was too transfixed on Harry, who looked just as shy as him.

“Wait.” Peter’s mind was still processing everything and he flushed with blood, eyes on his shoes, which were dirty and worn, probably worse than they looked since they were besides Harry’s shiny, new leather shoes. “Oh my God.” Peter murmured and Harry chuckled, “w-was… that okay? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I am.”

Harry’s eyes were gentle- the ones that few people had seen, the soft, caring and observing look. Peter got it a lot, and it never failed to make him feel like mush. “Oh… also…” Harry’s face was just as red as Peter’s, shy, and he bit his lip, “you went to check on me like two weeks ago? I-I was drunk and- um- you…”

Peter’s eyes were dinner plates. “Y-you knew I was—but—you—wh—!” He stuttered out, spluttering, the image of Harry’s furrowed brows and red face flickering to his mind. “I-I know! I’m sorry!”

Their spluttering died, and Peter couldn’t help but giggle childishly, shaking his head with a bashful smile. “Wanna get outa here?”

“Yeah. If I have to talk to one more teacher…” Harry trailed off and Peter took his hand, and led them away.

It hadn’t gone as expected.

Peter liked it.


End file.
